She said nothing
by noblyphantasmic
Summary: It's been almost seven years since Annie d'Angoulême has seen her former Servant, Cúchulainn. Since then he's been faring terribly, causing trouble in his hometown of Emain Macha, so much so that his wife Emer calls her one day for help. Annie heads to her old acquaintance to find him unrecognisable.


The lock clicks and I turn the knob, rushing through the door quickly to escape the downpour. It's been storming the entire day, and it doesn't seem like the rain will let up anytime soon.

I stomp my feet on the doormat and close up my umbrella. My hair and clothes are soaked through and through, and the only thing on my mind is the desire to step into a hot shower.

It's already pretty late, and the night has caught up to me. The only thing I can hear right now are my own footfalls as I ascend the creaky stairs. The other tenants must be asleep. And who can blame them when their only company is thunder and the heavy, unceasing droplets?

The dimly lit hallway is eerie, but I'm used to it, so the immediate feeling of fear when I reach the top of the stairs is starting to last but a breath before fading entirely away into indifference. I flip the switch and the yellow lamps lining its length flicker alight with a few bursts of energy.

The sense of solitude that surrounds me makes my steps feel heavier.

My keys won't turn the lock, as usual, and I curse irritably under my breath. I know I have to wiggle them forcefully to get the mechanism to finally work, but I'm afraid to bother my neighbours. Even still, I get it over with and hold my breath, completely rigid for a moment, bracing myself for the squeaky turn of a doorknob and an annoyed reprimand.

But there is only silence.

I turn up the heat as soon as I enter my tiny, lonely room, and the burst of air that comes after feels lovely on my cold cheeks. Throwing my bag onto the sofa, I peel off my clothes layer by layer, as they cling stubbornly to my damp skin. My fingers and toes are numb from the cold, and my clumsy fingers drop something every few seconds. I slip into my warm winter robe and dump my wet clothes in the dryer.

I'm about to step into the shower when the phone rings.

But who in the world could be calling at this hour?

"Annie? Is that you?"

...no one from this world, of course.

Emer sounds like she hasn't aged a day, though I should be used to it by now. I don't know why I still expect to find anything different about her, or anyone over at Emain Macha, whenever I see them. Time doesn't pass over there, so their real ages can't show on their faces.

I can hardly recall the last time I talked with her.

"Annie…?"

There's an urgent worry in her voice that sounds a lot like fear.

"Yeah, Emer, I'm right here. Can this wait a bit though? I'm afraid I-"

She cuts me off abruptly, and I frown because it's unlike her to do anything even remotely impolite.

"No. This matter is...it's important, Annie."

She really does sound scared, and it gets to me too. She's always been the strong one.

"Wh-what's up?"

My voice wavers slightly.

She doesn't say anything for a bit, and when she comes back on, I can tell she's fighting back tears.

"...it's Cuchulainn. He-well, his friends are, you know, here to help, but he-"

I hear her take a deep breath before starting again.

"I never thought it would get this bad...he-he's been away every night for three weeks, and when he comes back...he's really drunk, and-Annie, the bruises-"

I swallow, but my throat has gone dry, and it throws me into a short coughing fit, but I hold my breath so she can keep going.

"..tonight is the worst. He's been through half of town just shouting your name-and he got into a terrible fight with Laeg about everything-he nearly killed him, Annie, and I-I don't know what to do. And...I think it's all because he's still in love with you. ...he's at home now, and Cathbad's treating his wounds-but would you please see him? He needs you, Annie…"

I'm trembling so much that I have to grip the table with all my might to keep myself on my feet.

"I-I'll be there in a few minutes, Emer."

When I hang up the phone I see that my knuckles have gone white.

It's been almost seven years since I last saw Cuchulainn of Murithemne.

In that time, Emer has been keeping me updated about life over at Emain Macha, and that's been enough. I haven't talked to him at all since the night we said it was over.

But it's not because I hate him for it. We needed a break. Deep down, I still consider him my best friend. After all, we lived in the same house for two years and had to put up with each other every day. We had no choice but to get to know each other. We never grew apart during that time, but we had our fair share of fights, and sometimes it got ugly. I was a kid-foolish, naive, still holding onto illusions of fairy tales and true love. And that was what ended it for us.

It takes but a heartbeat and the clap of a hand to get to Emain Macha. It's long past the night here too. I can barely see five feet in front of me, and the tiny glows of candles from within the little huts that line my way are like faint stars compared to the never-ending darkness. But even so, I lock up my fears somewhere I cannot see them, and carry on. The strange shadows of the twisting old trees and the haunting sound of the strong night wind do nothing to me, for imagining what lies beyond those castle gates is the thing that fills me entirely with a nauseating dread.

I try to push it all into the back of my mind and keep looking ahead, but the heavy weight in the pit of my stomach is pulling me down.

I stop for a bit to sit on a rock.

When I look around I notice I've reached the middle of a flat field. I can see the outline of grass blowing in the wind all the way into the dark.

I kneel down in the grass and run my fingers through the softness-

Clovers. A field, not of grass, but of clovers.

I stand up and start away from there as soon as I realize it, before the memories resurface.

I'm just ten meters from Dun Cuith.

I break into a run and only stop to catch my breath when I reach the towering iron gates.

The castle is still bigger than anything I've ever seen, not in size, or height, but in...bigness. The rocks used to construct it can't even be called rocks. They're more like boulders, and because it was made with them, its outline isn't smooth like other castles, but lumpy. Against the midnight sky it almost seems as if it's just a really, really big boulder.

It's just like I remember.

And then suddenly I can't breathe.

It's not until I push past the doors that my lungs collapse and fill up again with air…

...but all that air gets released as soon as my eyes land on-

Cuchulainn. This cannot be the same-with his unkempt hair, his sunken, tired eyes, his haggard face, his ghostly pallor, his thinned frame, bringing nothing but sadness to everything all around him. This cannot be, is _not_, the same.

But when he warmly beckons me with an arm, when his eyes fill with laughter, when he greets me with a light-hearted jest, when he chuckles, smiles at me with more warmth than I've ever seen conveyed in a single smile...he must be the same.

"Oh? What's with that face, l'il lass? You've seen me much worse than this."

I tumble into his arms, throw my own around his neck, bury my face in his chest, and cry.


End file.
